


Tanniki

by FlightyWren



Series: Random Harvest Verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Memory Loss, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightyWren/pseuds/FlightyWren
Summary: When Thorin returns from an aborted trip outside his settlement in the Blue Mountains, he comes back to the realization that he's been considered dead for the past eleven years. He must face the heartbreak he left behind as well as navigate the difficulties of coming back to life after over a decade missing.
Series: Random Harvest Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037943
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**5 March TA 2817**

Dwalin was off escorting a caravan through the Hills of Evendim with Fíli, otherwise Thorin wouldn’t have left the mountains with only two other smiths for company. It was foolhardy to wander the wilds with such a small group, but times had grown lean indeed for Thorin’s people. Waiting any longer for a larger group to organize would have been the difference between life and death for some and Thorin refused to lose any more than had already been lost to hunger. So, he had found a pair of smiths that were striking out and joined their little company.

He had left _Thorinuldûm_ in Dís and Balin’s capable hands. He had been gone for stretches of months before, hiring himself out to towns in need of a blacksmith; it was nothing that couldn’t be done in the face of failing mines and no help from the _Fant-nuhûb_ lords.

Thorin grit his teeth at the thought of his last meeting with Lord Kartni, the Dwarf lord who had allowed Durin’s Folk to settle in his lands when they’d been displaced by Smaug. Thorin had come as he always did, humbling himself to ask for mining rights to the stabler shafts in their area of the mountain—shafts that Lord Kartni’s people rarely went into. It would have been better if Lord Kartni had laughed in his face. Instead, he had hemmed and hawed and made Thorin dance like a puppet on a string with niceties and deferment before sending him away, saying he needed to confer with his council first. Confer with his council indeed.

Thorin hadn’t waited to hear word back from Lord Kartni. His people couldn’t afford it. He’d left the next morning with instructions to Dís to send him word on the road of Lord Kartni’s answer, though they both knew what it would be.

He craned his head back to glance up at the overcast sky. It was hard to tell the position of the sun through the thick clouds overhead, but they’d been walking nearly all day and Thorin thought to himself that sunset would be coming along soon. He blinked against the watery sunlight. Then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Thorinuldûm – Thorin’s Halls  
> Fant-nuhûb - Broadbeam


	2. Chapter 2

**1 October TA 2938**

The sky overhead was no longer a watery gray, but a bright blue. The air was crisp against his skin. The cart he lay in rattled and bumped along the road. Thorin blinked owlishly. The sudden change in scenery threw him for a moment. What on Arda . . . Thorin jolted up onto his elbows, looking around wildly. The young Dwarf sitting at his side jumped violently.

“He’s awake!” She called as she looked to the front of the cart. She leaned forward, elbows in her lap, and stared with wide eyes down at Thorin. “You all right? You’ve been out for hours.” She reached out toward his face. He flinched back and her hand fell away.

“Where am I? What’s happened?” He demanded. He wrenched himself up to sit as the cart hit a dip and rattled violently. The barrels and boxes in the cart jostled around him, squeezing him on both sides.

“We found you on the side of the road, dead to the world. Figured we’d take you along with us ‘til you woke.” Her dark eyes flickered toward the cart’s driver. “It’s awful bad luck to be traveling alone.”

Thorin frowned over at her. She could be lying. They could have ambushed him and his traveling companions. The two men he’d left the mountain with were nowhere to be seen as he peered out of the cart at the small group of Dwarrow walking alongside it. They seemed more concerned with watching their surroundings than his movements in the cart, but it could be a ruse.

“I’ll take my leave, then.” He glanced over his shoulder to the driver. “Stop the cart.”

The cart came to a halt. The young woman exchanged a worried glance with the driver as he disembarked.

“You sure?” The driver asked. “We’re only a week’s travel from _Thorinuldûm_ and we couldn’t find a pack with you.”

Thorin bit back a curse. He’d not seen his pack in the cart—some fool part of him had hoped it was hidden away somewhere.

He patted himself down, quickly conducting an inventory. His clothes were of fine make, but not any he’d seen before. He plucked at his cloak. It was of fine quality and warm and most definitely not the cloak he’d donned this morning. His boots were new. He was missing a sword or any type of weapon. The driver’s concern was well-placed. If Thorin took off into the wilds without a weapon or supplies, he would be dead before long.

“Are you going to _Thorinuldûm_?” He finally asked with no small amount of reluctance. He didn’t know what had happened, but he suspected he’d lost more time than simply a few hours. Something was wrong. Yet, he didn’t trust his supposed rescuers enough to ask questions.

“Aye, that we are.” The driver answered with a tilt of his head. “We’ve been down to settlements past Harlond and’re on our way back, _Mahal maharuma_.” He peered curiously at Thorin. “What business have you there?”

“My business is my own.” Thorin all but snapped. The driver’s lips thinned. The group bristled as one and more than one hand strayed to the hilt of an axe or sword. “I apologize.” He waved a hand reassuringly and noticed that he was missing not only his signet ring, but his other jewelry as well aside from a plain gold band around his right ring finger. What in Mahal’s name was going on? “I, er, I hail from there and would return home before setting out again.” There was an awkward pause while the driver scrutinized him. Thorin wasn’t sure what he would do if they didn’t allow him to keep his privacy. It would do him and his family no good to have word spread that he’d been accosted somehow and robbed on the road. Their position was precarious enough without rumors of a lost battle undermining their authority.

Finally, the driver spoke.

“Aye, and we’ll see you safely there.” He gave a decisive nod and the rest of the group relaxed. “ _Imnê Horvari Grímurul. Zai adshânzu._ ” He bobbed his shaggy head with a cheery grin. Thorin couldn’t find it in himself to return the smile. He still felt rather wrong-footed.

“Barinur.” Thorin stumbled over the name; it was the name of a cousin from the Iron Hills. “ _Zai adshânzu._ ” He bowed as little as was polite.

Introductions were had. The group was mainly Horvari’s cousins and his daughter, Gylta, who he was training to start taking over the family’s textile business. They had only recently settled in the Blue Mountains after coming west from a village outside Bree. Gylta had a lame leg and was confined to the cart for their journey. Thorin learned this as they continued their journey. He walked beside the cart and listened as Gylta chattered amiably, filling the afternoon with entertainment.

It was not quite the same as traveling with Dwalin and, if he were being perfectly honest, Thorin missed his company. It had been weeks since he’d left with Fíli on their current job and then there was the blank space in Thorin’s memory. As the hours passed and he contemplated his situation, he knew that the lack of memory covered more than a mere few hours. His clothes were worn and changed. His beard, he’d discovered, was a good few inches longer than he usually kept it and braided to boot. The day itself was as crisp as his last memories had been, but the sky was changed and there was a different feel to the air than had been there what seemed to be earlier that morning. Dwalin might jest that he was the great thinker between the two of them, but Thorin was no fool. Dread curled in his gut the farther they traveled. How long had it been?

***

Now, Thorin would not tolerate being called a coward, but he was reluctant to show any weakness to his companions, however sincere they may appear to be. It was for this reason that he did not give away his thoughts about his missing memories to the group as they made their way north along the foothills of the _Khagal'abbad_.

The days passed quickly. They broke camp before dawn and stayed on the road as long as they could after sunset. When they settled down at the end of each day, Gylti favored them with music from the small harp she carried with her. Thorin spoke little to the group and they graciously ignored him in return. He stayed close to the cart, knowing that, should the worst happen and they be attacked, he was the most vulnerable of their group aside from Gylti.

Before long, they had turned west from the main road and started up the path that led to _Thorinuldûm_ , where it sat about a day and a half’s journey from the road. It was a steep path set with great rocks and dips. Thorin and a few of the other men walked behind the cart, helping to push it along when it got stuck and the ponies, sturdy as they were, could do nothing but strain against their harnesses in vain.

The path had long been a point of contention between Thorin and the nearby Dwarf lords. It was a side path, but the most direct to _Thorinuldûm_ from the main road. To take the path that went first through Lord Kartni’s lands added an additional two days to the journey, though it was a great deal easier. Thrain had seen the path somewhat leveled, but after Azanulbizar, workers had been scarce, and the project had fallen by the wayside during their efforts to recover. Decades later, Thorin still couldn’t spare the workers necessary to finish leveling the road and Lord Kartni had the audacity to charge steep tolls for any traveling through his settlement to get to _Thorinuldûm_. Most merchants from _Thorinuldûm_ took the side road simply out of spite, no matter the risk it posed to their caravans.

Regardless of the state of the path, Thorin was glad to be on it, for it meant that his ill-fated journey was coming to a close. He soon would be able to speak with Dís and Balin. Together, they could find out what had happened to him and where he had been during the time he’d lost. Thorin was anxious to know if this were some sort of plot against the throne or if it had been the result of an accident.

As they approached _Thorinuldûm’s_ front gate, he pulled his hood forward and ducked his head. He loathed to come through the gates as some common criminal, but to be seen returning with no weapons or supplies would send tongues wagging.

The guards checked Horvari’s papers and chatted with him for a time before standing aside and allowing them through. Thorin’s chest tightened as they drove down the main road. There was something wrong, but he couldn’t place what it was.

“All right,” Horvari pulled the cart to a stop and turned to Thorin. “This is where we part ways. May better luck find you, Barinur.” Thorin offered a thin smile.

“Thank you for your service.” He bowed. “It will not be forgotten.”

“Come along, now, my kin!” Horvari chirped as he started the ponies walking again. “Best prepare ourselves for a visit from the Queen’s inspector. Don’t dawdle.”

“‘Queen?’ What queen?” Thorin murmured, but when he turned back to face them, the cart was lost in the crowd.

Thorin’s gaze flickered from spot to spot, trying to take in the changes and yet unable to put his finger on what exactly was different. There was an easiness about the way the Dwarrow moved around, he finally decided; people were smiling, and laughter rang out more than once as he made his way down the road toward the royal district. The air of despair that had clung to Durin’s Folk for so long seemed to have lifted a measure. The Dwarrow he passed had fuller faces and shinier beards than he was used to seeing and their clothes were just a touch better made than had been the usual since Erebor fell.

He fought the urge to run to the royal district. It would attract attention to move as fast as he wished. Thorin grit his teeth and slowly walked toward the Great Hall.

Despite his efforts to remain unseen, whispers started to follow him through the streets. It started as a quiet gasp, then another. As he entered the royal district, the whispers began. He thought he heard his name thrown about.

“—can’t be—”

“I swear it—”

“ _Jalai'Gil zabdûna!_ ”

“—years it’s been, years!”

Thorin pulled his hood lower and carried on, but his heart pounded in his chest. What was going on? Had he truly been away that long that his people were surprised by his return? And who was this Queen? Had Dís been crowned in his absence? The thought was disturbing. It meant he’d been gone longer than he’d thought.

He was not twenty paces from the Great Halls when there came a hoarse cry that carried over the quiet din of the courtyard. It was all the warning Thorin had before Dís came running through the crowd and barreled into him. The courtyard went deathly silent. Thorin took a step back to steady himself. Dís clung tightly to him for a moment before pulling away. She wrenched his hood back from his face, scrutinizing his features. Tears streamed down her cheeks and into her closely shorn beard. It was wrenching to see; Dís had not shed a tear since the day she’d lost Vili and borne Kíli hours later.

“I did not believe them.” She gasped harshly. “It—After—” She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

“Dís,” Thorin gripped her shoulders. He was acutely aware of the gathering crowd of nobles gawking at them. “Dís, we must leave this area. This is not the place to discuss what’s happened.” Already the silence that had fallen was starting to be broken by murmurs. Dís drew a shuddering breath and looked around.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

Before she could get any further, Fíli and Kíli came rushing into the courtyard, followed closely by Dwalin. They skidded to a halt as soon as they laid eyes on Thorin. To his credit, Thorin’s heart dropped the sight of his nephews. They were years older than they’d been when last he’d seen them. Fíli had the air of a man about him and Kíli’s beard had started coming in when it had been a wispy mustache just days ago.

“Dís.” He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “How long has it been?”

Dís frowned up at him. She looked him over again. She reached gently up to touch a braid at his temple. Thorin caught the silver of its bead out of the corner of his eye, but it took Dís’s attention for a long moment. She finally sighed heavily and let her hand fall to her side.

“It’s been eleven years.”

***

They bundled themselves away to Dís’s private quarters. The nobles who had borne witness to Thorin’s reappearance had still been in too much of a shock to approach them as they’d left the courtyard and hurried off to the royal quarters. Thorin knew there would be a reckoning to come. There would be council meetings and hearings. He would need to prove himself to the council and to his people, that he had truly come back from wherever he’d been. It was going to be a nightmare, truly. But first, he had to set things right with his family.

Dís held tight to Thorin’s arm as they walked; Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli trailed silently behind them. They hadn’t spoken a word as he’d led Dís away from the crowd. The silence that had fallen between the five of them was suffocating. Through it all, Thorin’s mind whirled.

Eleven years. Eleven—What in Mahal’s name had happened? How had he lost eleven years of his life? And where had he been? It was obvious he had not been looking after his people. What had he been doing? He had tried hard not to inspect his braids or person too much on the road; it wouldn’t do to have alerted his rescuers that he was missing more than his supplies. But one of his braids at least had taken Dís’s attention and he was itching to see what it was. Did it tell what he’d done?

What had he missed here, he wondered. What had happened to his people, his family, while he’d been missing?

Thorin voiced none of his thoughts until they were locked up in Dís’s chambers with two guards posted at the door to keep out anyone curious enough to follow them. Balin had been summoned. Thorin wasn’t sure he wished to discuss anything until he arrived.

It seemed the others were of a like mind at first because immediately after the door had been shut and bolted, Dís threw herself into the nearest armchair and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, but she made no sound. Fíli was at her side in an instant, kneeling down so he could put his hands on her knees.

“ _’Amad_ ,” he murmured, “ _nê sabrashukiya._ ” He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. As her hair moved, Thorin caught sight of the braid that indicated she was queen of her people. His heart sank. What had he done? “ _Nadadzi mananka._ ”

“Has he?” Dwalin growled from his place at Thorin’s back. “This could be some sort of trick. Another ploy of theirs.” Thorin turned to scowl at him.

“Ploy?” He snapped. “Dwalin, do you not know your own kin?”

Dwalin’s eyes were wet as he answered.

“We buried Thorin Oakenshield.” His voice broke. “We laid him to rest in a tomb far from the mountain that bore him, and you ask me if I recognize my own kin?”

Thorin’s mouth went dry.

“What?” He mouthed. He swallowed, then spoke again louder. “That’s not possible. I stand before you now, alive.” He whipped around to face Dís and Fíli again.

Dís had lifted her head. She stared at him, face pinched in anguish. She looked at him as though looking at a stranger. It pained him to see, especially from she who had been so close to him after the deaths of their kin. His lips parted, but no sound came.

“We found a body.” Dís’s voice was hoarse and tired. “It had been torn apart by _beasts_.” Her brow twitched at some memory. “But we found scraps of your clothes, your supplies . . . They told us where to find your body.” She gave a small, helpless shrug and lowered her gaze to meet Fíli’s.

“Aye,” Fíli said. He took his mother’s hands in his.

“Who told you?”

“The _Mashankhân_.” She whispered. “Orar and his kin.”

Thorin saw red.

“That filth!” He spat. Orar had once been on Thror’s council but had been demoted during Thror’s madness. It had been all Thrain could do to keep Orar from being exiled after he demanded an audit of Erebor’s growing hoard. Thror had seized all of Orar’s property in retaliation on what they suspected were fabricated charges of fraud. By the time Erebor had fallen, Orar’s house had been reduced to utter poverty. They’d never forgiven the royal family for it. At Azandulbizar, Orar had been the head of a battalion that had been supposed to charge a hill at one point. He’d called a retreat at last minute. That retreat had kept Thorin’s battalion from receiving aid; Frerin, fighting at Thorin’s side, had died not long after the retreat had been called. Thorin couldn’t prove that Orar had done it because he knew it would risk his and Frerin’s lives, but Orar had been bitter indeed since the incident with Thror. “What happened?”

Dís shook her head. Her gaze dropped to her and Fíli’s hands.

“What happened to _you_?” Thorin looked to Kíli, who had been silent thus far. He’d gone to the hearth when they’d first entered the room and was now leaning against it, staring stonily into the flame. “You leave on a trip and never come back. Where did you go?” He glared accusingly at Thorin.

Thorin sighed heavily. He glanced around the room, but neither Fíli nor Dis were looking at him and Dwalin was still glowering suspiciously. His eyes found the floor. He didn’t want to say it; he knew they would think of Thror and the moments when he hadn’t even recognized his own son or grandchildren. Is that what had happened to him? Had Thror’s sickness somehow come upon him and left him wandering Middle Earth for the past decade? The very idea made his stomach turn.

“I don’t know.” He finally mumbled. Kíli’s scowl deepened.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember anything since I left.” Thorin ran a hand down his face. This was the last thing he wanted to discuss, but it had to be said. “My last memories are of traveling south along the road, just days from here, and then I woke a week ago in a merchant’s cart.”

Silence stretched until it felt as though it were a physical thing in the room. Dís exchanged a loaded glance with Dwalin. Thorin couldn’t see Fíli’s face, but his back stiffened. Kíli was visibly shocked, then concerned.

“Thorin,” Dís finally said, “is it—Do you suppose—”

“I don’t _know_.” He all but growled. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve done.” He looked around the room again. “Dís, I—” But words failed him. What could he say? That he’d lost his mind? There had always been worries, in the back of Thorin’s mind, of returning to Erebor and the gold that awaited there. Would he or any of his family succumb to the same sickness Thror had? His worst, most secret fear had now been realized; madness was in his blood, regardless of whether he was near a treasure hoard or not.

“It could have been an injury.” Dís hastened to say. She did not look convinced. “Orar’s men attacked you on the road. If they brought a hammer down on your head, perhaps . . .” She looked searchingly to Dwalin, who seemed thoughtful.

“It’s happened before.” Dwalin finally allowed. “A knock to the head can affect the soundest of minds.” The implication that Thorin’s family had always had the potential to have unsound minds went unsaid. “But usually things sort themselves out after a few days or months.” He shook his head. “Eleven years?”

“I have no other explanation.” Thorin said, his voice rather faint. “I can offer information only I would know, should you wish me to prove myself.”

Dís exchanged another heavy look with Dwalin. They conversed silently for a moment before Dwalin shook his head with a huff.

“I have a scar, the story of which changes every time I tell it.” He said. “Where is it and how did I get it?”

For the first time since he’d awakened in that cart, Thorin smiled the slightest bit.

“Your thumb, at the base. You were helping to peel potatoes on the road to Bree. The knife slipped.” He stared imploringly at Dwalin, his oldest friend. Let this be what convinced him. Let them not be at odds.

Dwalin’s stony expression held, then he took a shuddering breath, and his eyes grew wet.

“Thorin,” he gasped. He lurched forward to grab Thorin’s shoulders and butt their heads together. Thorin closed his eyes, returning the embrace. “We’ve mourned you these eleven years.” His voice was rough. A lump formed in Thorin’s throat. Dwalin pulled back enough to look him over with a fond eye. “ _Mahal maharuma._ ” He let his hands fall from Thorin’s shoulders and they stepped apart.

There was silence for a time. Dís leaned forward to rest her forehead against Fíli’s. Her crying had subsided to a slight quaking in her body and soft sniffles. Kíli moved to stand at her side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and stared blankly into the distance.

Thorin’s throat was still tight. He wanted to comfort his sister but knew that it would do little to help. What could possibly be said? What could be done? He’d been gone for over a decade. He’d disappeared. They’d found what they’d thought was his body. They had buried and mourned him. They would have had to move on with their lives, however painful it might have been. His heart ached at the very thought. How could he have left them in such a way?

“We’ll have to tell the Council.” Dwalin finally said. “We’ll have to call an emergency session.”

“Aye.” Dís murmured. She gave a small hum, then opened her eyes and straightened up.

Before they could get any further, however, the door swung open and Balin stepped into the room. His gaze fell first on Dís, Fíli, and Kíli, then Dwalin. Then he saw Thorin. His face paled and his eyes grew wide. He quickly shut the door behind himself.

“Thorin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Mahal maharuma. – Mahal be praised.  
> Imnê Horvari Grímurul. Zai adshânzu. – My name is Horvari son of Grímul. At your service.  
> Zai adshânzu. – At your service.  
> Khagal'abbad – Blue Mountains  
> Jalai'Gil zabdûna! – Tell the Queen!  
> ’Amad nê sabrashukiya. – Mother don’t be pained.  
> Nadadzi mananka. – Your brother has returned.  
> Mashankhân – They who are betrayed


End file.
